Jean wondered who could be ringing the doorbell so late at night.
Sitting at her piano with the last notes of Chopin echoing in the empty house, she considered not answering the door. It couldn't be Maggie. She was at a Little League game with Timmy. And it certainly wasn't Paul. He would have called first.
She struck another chord. The doorbell rang again, persistent.
A month ago she would have let it ring. She stood up, smoothed down her skirt, raked a hand through her hair, and went to answer the door. The man standing in the beam of her porch light had faded blond hair thinning a little at the crown, a stomach going slightly to pot, and a familiar full-lipped mouth.
"Curt! What in the world brings you here?"
"Aren't you going to ask me in, Jean?"
She stood aside for him to pass. Instead, he leaned down and gave her a quick hug. His Ralph Lauren cologne was a shade overpowering. She wondered if he still put it on the inside of his thighs.
Very much at ease, he sauntered into her den, selected Paul's favorite chair, and made himself at home. He'd been there before ... as their guest.
"I was afraid if I called ahead, you'd make some excuse. Folks haven't seen much of you lately."
"I'm trying to change that."
"I expect you to change it with me. There's a new great singer down at the Grand Biloxi Beach Resort. Why don't we run down there, have a drink, catch up on old times."
It was not a question. Dr. Curtis Blake had always been aggressive.
Jean started to say no. She didn't want to sit in a lounge and pretend her life was normal.
Curt smiled at her. "Say yes, Jean."
"Yes," she said, surprising both of them. "Let me freshen up a bit."
Upstairs in her bedroom her hands shook as she applied lipstick and combed her hair. The faint scent of Curt's cologne clung to her clothes.
One drink. That's all. She was just going for one drink.
And if anything developed after that, she deserved it, didn’t she?